


mr. good lookin’ is technically not really cookin'

by adverbialstarlight



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Baking, Birthday Fluff, Cookies, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, rating for swearing which isnt a surprise either, we know im not funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 14:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20009920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adverbialstarlight/pseuds/adverbialstarlight
Summary: Keith made the stupid idea of making cookies, so naturally Lance has to help out. Little does he know what they're for.





	mr. good lookin’ is technically not really cookin'

**Author's Note:**

> thought you saw the last of me, klance fandom?? i think the fuck not. anyway, i remembered at the last moment it's lance's birthday (happy birthday i'd die for u) so as usual, this isn't betaed and sorry for any mistakes. for once the title isn't from a song, but actually something in the fic can you believe. anyway hope you enjoy :D

Baking was not much of a hobby for Keith nor Lance. They usually left that sort of thing to Hunk, or Allura, or Shiro, or someone who could actually turn on a fucking oven, fully knowing that any of their own attempts would turn out entirely inedible. During holidays and birthdays, Lance had come to expect treats either bought from the grocery store or made by someone who was not Keith.

So when he walked into their apartment one afternoon, Lance was surprised and slightly alarmed to see Keith standing over several glass bowls and a bag of cookie mix in the kitchen.

“Uh, Keith, babe, love of my life, what the fuck?” he said, dropping his bag quickly before rushing inside.

Keith waved at the set up in front of him, eyebrows raised and completely unconcerned. He tore open the bag and dumped it into one of the bowls. “Making cookies, what did you think I was doing?”

Lance slowed as he approached the counter. He snorted and brushed some of the dusty cookie mixture out of Keith’s bangs then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “I can see that. But no offense, but are you _sure_ it’s a great idea? You remember what happened the last time, don’t you? I married you for fuck’s sake, don’t put me through that torture again.”

“Please,” Keith scoffed. “Hunk said it’s almost impossible to mess up these kind of cookies and I can use an oven timer now.”

Back when they were still in college, Lance made the mistake of volunteering himself and Keith to make cookies for his niece’s birthday so she could bring them into her class. They’d set off the fire alarm and somehow burnt the cookies so badly that a neighbor had thought the house had caught on fire and called 911. It had been one in the morning, and after the firetruck and police officers left, they had to make a frantic run to the 24 hour Walmart.

Though his mother and Nadia never fully forgave them for it and everyone they knew liked to bring it up at least once a month, the memory was a fond one for Lance. That fateful trip to Walmart was the catalyst for his relationship with Keith. Because peak romance was confessing in the self check out of Walmart in the dead of night right next to some random guy in crocs who was very unsubtly eavesdropping on their entire conversation.

And now they were here, married and older, though apparently still as moronic. Well, Keith was, anyway. After that incident, Lance never wanted to even look at a measuring cup again. If Keith were smart, he’d have done the same.

“We both know it wasn’t just the timer’s fault,” Lance said, eyebrows raised. “You also kind of fucked up the dough consistency and made the cookies tiny and burnable.”

“Because they were going to be fed to _seven year olds_ , I didn’t want to give them diabetes or something,” Keith retorted.

Lance snickered. “From one chocolate chip cookie, really?”

“I’m a writer, not a doctor.” Keith’s elbow bumped into the open bag of sugar and he swore before frantically grabbing for it before all the contents got dumped onto the floor. He managed to catch it just in time, cradling the paper bag close to his chest before glaring at Lance.

It was impossible to take him seriously like this. There was even more flour on Keith’s face than there had been cookie mix, in his hair and powdering his cheeks and forehead. Despite the sour look on his face, Keith looked impossibly cute.

For a moment they just stared at each other, but Lance couldn’t hold back anymore and began giggling. “Oh my god,” he wheezed quietly, reaching out to brush off Keith’s cheek again. “You’re such a disaster, I love you so much.”

Keith pouted but held still. There was a small smile beginning to form on his lips despite his clear efforts to clamp down on it. “Stop laughing at me and just help. I have no idea what I’m doing right now.”

“Okay, okay,” Lance said. He put his hands up in surrender and stepped back, turning towards the pantry to look for another spare apron.

Though they didn’t cook or bake, their apartment had a super nice kitchen and Hunk had claimed it as his own for a while until he moved into a house with his wife. There were still random, fancy soup ladles and garlic mashers and aprons lying around, and for once one of them be somewhat useful.

Lance dug around for a few moments before he found a balled up apron at the bottom of a box. “Aha!” he muttered as he smoothed the apron out. It was blue with the words “Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’” printed on the first, and Lance laughed in delight. He wasn’t sure he recalled Hunk ever earing this one, but it was perfect.

When he sauntered back into the kitchen, Keith was pouring a glass of water into the glass bowl with the cookie mix and flour. Lance leaned against the counter dramatically, forcing Keith to look up from the bowl he was mixing.

“Like the look?” Lance asked.

Keith read the apron and rolled his eyes fondly. “We’re technically not cooking,” he pointed out.

“Semantics,” Lance dismissed. “So what can I do to help?”

Keith glanced back at the directions then put a large wooden spoon into Lance’s hand. “Stir this stuff together until it becomes uh… cookie dough-ey I think.”

“Cookie dough-ey?” Lance asked, amused. He took the spoon and slid the bowl towards himself and began to stir it as Keith began whatever the next step was.

A few minutes later, there was a bowl of actually cookie dough-looking dough in front of him. Lance was kind of surprised, and he raised his eyebrows at Keith. “Wow, this might actually turn out alright,” he commented.

Without missing a beat, Keith said, “If it doesn’t, just remember you contributed failure to this too.”

Lance chuckled. “Right back at you, man. So why exactly are we making these again? Not that you can’t, but it’s the end of July and most people don’t consider hot cookies a summery dessert.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s a surprise. And it’s winter somewhere, so I mean.”

“Huh, fair enough.”

They began to scoop out spoon fulls of dough onto the parchment covered baking tray— large, normal sized cookies, because Lance was pretty sure they wouldn’t be going to seven year olds that had a high risk of diabetes and choking— in a comfortable silence, rolling the dough into small balls then squishing them down. Lance could kind of understand why Hunk liked baking so much, this part, at least, was fun.

Once two trays were filled, Lance turned to Keith. “Okay, master baker, what’s next?”

Keith looked down at the bag. “Now we put them in the oven at 400°.” He glanced at the oven then frowned. “Shit.”

“What— oh my god, Keith.” Lance followed his husband’s gaze towards the oven, which only read the time. He felt another grin pulling at his lips.

Keith only shrugged. “I was trying to figure out the ingredients, I didn’t have time to preheat the oven,” he defended.

“So dedicated,” Lance mused as he strode over and preheated the oven. Once finished, he spun back around and took a step into Keith’s space. “And now I assume we wait?”

Keith nodded. He took a step forward as well. “You know, we could probably use this time to clean up some of the ingredients and stuff,” he pointed out.

“But will we?”

“I think I know a better way to pass the time,” Keith said, raising an eyebrow. He took yet another step forward, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of Lance’s jeans with a small smile.

Lance grinned, pressing his forehead against Keith’s. “Oh really now? Guess you’ll just have to show me what that is then.”

He wasn’t sure who initiated it first, but who was Lance to complain about making out with his husband in the middle of their kitchen for a few minutes? After all, Mr. Good Lookin’ was no longer distracted with his Cookin’, and the cookies couldn’t burn if they weren’t in the oven.

* * *

A few days later, Lance woke up with sunlight streaking in from the curtains. He sat up and noticed Keith was gone, though there was something that smelled like bacon coming from the kitchen and the other side of the bed didn’t seem too cool yet.

As if summoned, Lance heard a clattering of dishes and then familiar footsteps in the hallway. Keith popped into the doorway a moment later, a fond grin on his lips and a tray carefully balanced in his hands. “Happy birthday, Lance,” he said. “Room service.”

“Aw, Keith, what did I even do to deserve you,” Lance cooed. He felt his lips split into a grin as Keith set down the tray. Once sure it was balanced, he leaned over it and looped his arms around Keith’s neck, pulling the other man into a light kiss. “Thank you, I love it. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Keith mumbled against his lips. “So much that I let you help make your own birthday cookies.”

Lance pulled back. “Wait, what?” he asked, brows furrowing. He couldn’t have heard that correctly. Though he supposed that would’ve explained the weird, sudden cookie baking. His eyes moved over to the tray, and as suspected, one of the plates held three of the chocolate chip cookies they’d baked the other day and Keith had refused to let Lance eat. There were blue sprinkles over them and an electric tea candle on the plate too. He turned back to Keith.

Keith gave him a small, impish grin. “Whoops. Surprise.”

Perhaps he said it about every year, but each time Lance declared a birthday his favorite one, he absolutely meant it. This one was no exception.

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted something funny on the apron he wore and that was one of the first google results and thus an entire joke was made i'm lame, i know. anyway hope yall liked this and happy lance's birthday! ngl i've been in a vld writing slump (hence the crazy aftg fic where i dumped out 15k in a week) but i feel like i'm back now so you'll see more from me soon ;))
> 
> leave a kudos/comment to make me cry and catch me on [tumblr](https://adverbialstarlight.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/adverbialnouns) if you want


End file.
